HB, DD

Twenty-two years ago today, during the dinner hour, Darling Daughter made her entry into the world. So far, it’s been the only time in her life that she’s arrived anywhere early – several weeks early, in fact. It was also the only time in her life that she had baggy knees and ankles, and I had high hopes that my new daughter would not have my thick-ish ankles. That didn’t pan out (genetics are stronger than wishes), but at least they aren’t baggy any more.

I have to say that I have loved almost (ALMOST!) every moment of being a mom. DD was a pretty easy baby and a lovely little girl, though she was – and is – extremely strong-willed and had more than one temper tantrum. As she grew into a teenager, she really didn’t give us many difficult times, and over and over again, she proved how mature and intelligent she was by the decisions she made. Yes, of course there were awful times, but generally speaking, I think her dad and I got lucky, especially when I see the beautiful, caring, funny young woman that she has now become.

And why only one child, you may ask? In the words of her father, “We got it perfect the first time, so why mess with that?”

For twenty-two years, DD has provided me with endless joy and also endless laughter. For example, there was the time, when she was three, that I called her to come to the kitchen. It took her a while to show up – unusual for a kid who loved to eat.

“Where were you?” I asked her.

She cheerily replied, “In my fucking bedroom.”

I looked at her. I looked at her dad. He looked at her. He looked at me.

“Where were you?” I ventured, trying not to show my shock.

“In my fucking bedroom,” she repeated, as jaunty as anything.

Her dad was stifling his laughter by this point. Easy for him – he wasn’t looking right at that angelic little face with the big hazel eyes framed with long light brown hair.

“Oh,” I stammered, “do you mean your pretty bedroom?”

DD nodded, all serious now. “Yes, my pretty bedroom.”

Dodged a bullet there.

DD, I love you tremendously! You make the world a better place and me a better person. I am so proud to be your mom! So, Happy Happy Birthday, DD – in either one of your bedrooms.

Let them eat cake

Yes, I am an almost-Christmas baby.

When I was a kid, it really bugged me to have my birthday so close to Christmas. I used to want to change it to September (probably because that’s when my brother’s birthday is).

But now, I see the advantages. For one thing, I only have to make one wish list per year. For another, my holiday season lasts a lot longer than most people’s. For yet another, it makes me somewhat unique and my friends do tend to remember my birthday simply because it’s at a time of year people recall quite easily anyway (though I’d like to believe that none of my friends would ever forget my birthday regardless!).

So I have actually been celebrating since Saturday evening, when Porsche Guy took me out for my birthday dinner – and it was at a restaurant far swankier than Tim Horton’s, too! He also gave me my presents then, because one of them was the cable that would enable my iPod to work with the stereo controls of my car, so he thought I might like to try it out on the way to and from the restaurant. Then we went to a hockey game Monday night, and the Canucks won, so that was a bit of a gift. Tuesday was the actual day, so there were a few more gifts from DD, my mom, and my friend Meshka, who also took me out for a vanilla latté. I had several phone messages and emails from various other pals, so I feel quite loved and appreciated! Then, DD took me out for dinner at one of our local golf courses, and my mom has promised to take me out for another dinner if the snow ever melts enough for her to get out of her driveway.

But it has just occurred to me: there has been a very important omission. Birthday cake. I did not have a birthday cake. And birthday cake as a concept is just as important at fifty-one as it is at five.

Now what will I eat for breakfast tomorrow?